Shards
by Frootkake Productions
Summary: A crossover with Highlander. So far, it isn't about anything. But when I find a real plot, you'll be the first to know. Buffy witnesses a Quickening...


**Author's Note: **Takes place during the second season of Buffy, and nowhere in particular in Highlander. Like it or don't like it, tell me!

**Shards**

Rain pattered the cobblestone walkway as swords flashed in the night. Strike, block, parry, thrust. The combinations seemed endless. Duncan MacLeod kept his distance as was obligatory according to the rules of the Game, but held his sword at the ready in case he had to avenge an unfavourable outcome. This was Methos' fight, he knew, but that did not change Duncan's willingness to defend his friend if the need arose.

For his part, Methos was the best swordsman Duncan had ever known. He made the duel look effortless, although with five thousand years of experience under his belt, this was not surprising. Methos delivered the final blow, and his Immortal foe's headless body sank to the muddy ground. Duncan finally sheathed his katana, and awaited the effects of the Quickening.

Lightning struck Methos repeatedly, as his body absorbed the energy of his antagonist. The Quickening left the Immortal breathless on the ground.

Methos met Duncan's eyes. He shook his head, saying, "I'm getting—"

"Too old for this," Duncan finished. "I know."

"Well, it's true," Methos replied, not moving up from his knees.

Duncan shrugged. "I suppose you could always let the next one kill you."

"You're so funny, MacLeod. Absolutely hysterical."

"It was just a suggestion." Duncan smirked, offering Methos his hand.

The Immortal waved him off, and instead used his sword to stand up, and then lean on.

"Stubborn old boot. Come on, let's get back to the motel."

"'Stubborn old boot'?" Methos scowled. "That's a little harsh, MacLeod."

Duncan remained silent, but cast a lopsided grin at his companion.

"Don't take out your _impeccable_ choice of motel on _me_. I warned you it sounded like a dump, and—lo and behold!—I was right."

"Knock it off, would ya? It's just for a couple more days."

"Lucky for you."

On the other side of the park, a fight of a different sort was taking place. Buffy the vampire slayer lay flat on her back, the rain pelting her bloodied face, as a vampire leered above her.

"You're not so tough. And I bet you're tasty!" He bared his fangs.

Buffy's fingers scrambled for the stake that lay just out of her reach. As the vampire descended on her, she thrust her feet out to kick him in the stomach. He snarled as he back-peddled. The Slayer rolled, caught her stake, and threw it straight into the vampire's heart with pristine accuracy.

"Tougher than you thought, Dustboy," Buffy scoffed, wiping blood from her lip on the back of her sleeve.

"Well, done, Buff. Another impressive slayage of evil," Xander Harris stood up from behind the park bench that had overturned as he'd fallen into it. He applauded overenthusiastically.

"Thank you, thank you. I live to entertain, as well as to, you know, save the world from those which go bump in the night." Buffy mock-curtsied.

"Where's Willow?" Xander inquired, looking around.

"She's over here," the young fledgling witch waved from behind the tree.

"Good, we're all still alive. Another job well done, I'd say," Buffy smiled at her friends. "Time to sleep and then get up and do it all over again tomorrow night."

"Thank God it's the weekend," Willow sighed. "I can sleep in tomorrow."

"We can all sleep in tomorrow," Xander amended. "Especially—"

"Shh," Buffy interrupted.

All three froze, keening their ears.

"I hear swords," Willow whispered.

"Exactly,"

Buffy sprinted in the direction of the fighting. Xander and Willow exchanged uncertain glances.

"Do we follow?" Xander asked warily.

Willow shrugged. "She didn't tell us not to,"

"Okay, then we follow,"

They ran after the Slayer, and ducked behind a concrete trough filled with flowers.

"There's three of them out there, but the one's just standing around," Buffy explained in a whisper.

"Like he's waiting for something?" Willow wondered.

"I guess." Buffy shrugged. She hazarded a glance around the trough. One of the duelists brought his sword down through the neck of the other, severing the head completely. "Oh God,"

"What?" Xander asked, eyes wide.

"He just decapitated the other one."

"Oh God," said Willow.

Suddenly lightning split the night, touching down all around the area beyond their hiding place. All three peered around the edges of the trough.

"What is he--?" Willow's question trailed off.

"Maybe we should leave," Xander suggested. "Tell Giles, see what he can learn from his books of learning." He closed his eyes and shook his head, knowing that his words were askew.

"You're right," Buffy agreed. "We have to tell Giles about this."

Xander silently thanked his lucky stars that his friends knew when not to call him on his odd phrasing, then thanked them again for Buffy's words of praise.

"How do we get out of here without them noticing and coming to decapitate us?" Willow queried, frightened.

"We'll wait a bit and see what they do. I'll follow them, find out where they're holed up, and you guys can head home. This just turned into a more serious Slayer night."

"Are you sure—"

Buffy cut Willow off, "I'll be fine, don't worry." She peeked around the trough again.

"'Stubborn old boot'?" the one kneeling on the ground said, offended. "That's a little harsh, MacLeod."

"You guys go. Right now. While they're distracted," the Slayer told her friends.

"Be careful, Buffy," Willow cautioned.

"Don't worry, Will. She's our Buffy," Xander tried to reassure her.

"I'll be careful. I promise," Buffy returned.

Xander and Willow hurried away as carefully as the had come.

MacLeod was saying, "It's just for a couple more days."

"Lucky for you," the other muttered.

"Okay, Boys, what's for a couple more days?" Buffy wondered.

She waited, crouched behind the trough until the two strangers started off. She stayed within hearing distance of their conversation, as they went back to their motel.

Methos slowly got to his feet, then sheathed his sword. "Any word from Dawson?"

"None,"

"Is he still looking for MacGregor?"

"I think so. He really hasn't said, Methos," MacLeod replied with a shrug. "I imagine, however, that if he was here, he would have shown himself by now."

"Careful, MacLeod, that almost sounded like optimism."


End file.
